Fall
by Be Summer Rain
Summary: It had been her idea to grab supper together, and in truth, it was nothing more than a thinly disguised diversion.


_Fall_

A/N: All that angst was getting to me, so I wrote a (pointless and plotless) fic fluffier than a bag of marshmallows. Also, I took major liberties with the geography of the city.

Perhaps she should have noticed that something was a little different. As if the late afternoon light had changed, almost imperceptibly, casting different sorts of shadows. But as it was, she only noticed that the leaves were turning deeper shades of scarlet and gold and other colors that she couldn't quite name.

"Marmalade," came a voice from her right.

She looked up, startled. "What?"

He gestured at the trees. "Lizzie always called this color marmalade. And those," he continued, nodding his head toward red-tipped trees, "were raspberry." He grinned at her and she fought to keep from turning raspberry-colored herself. It always unnerved her when he seemed to read her mind like that.

"Does she still?" Olivia asked; after all, Lizzie was nearly thirteen.

"Nah," he said. "Too old for it. Mentioned it once and she looked like she wanted to evaporate on the spot. I forgot how easily I embarrass my children." He smiled, a little wryly, and kept walking.

"I bet," she said, digging her elbow into his ribs, and he pushed her arm away lightly.

"What are you saying, Detective Benson?" he asked in mock horror.

"You embarrass me enough as it is," she said, looking away innocently, "that I can imagine how it must be for your children."

"I am, indeed, a man of hidden talents."

She snorted. "I'm sure."

"What?" he asked, looking hurt. "You don't believe me?"

"Stabler, I have known you for a hell of a long time," she said. "If you had any hidden talents, I'd know by now."

He smirked. "You think so?" He gave her a superior smile that he knew would annoy her. "So, where we headed again?"

"You know perfectly well," she said grumpily. The superior smile had clearly worked. "Should be half a mile away if we cut through the park."

It had been her idea to grab supper together, and in truth, it was nothing more than a thinly disguised diversion to keep him from going to his empty house where she knew a few too many beers were stocked. She couldn't guarantee that he didn't know exactly what she was up to, but then he didn't seem to mind.

"This isn't some frilly little girly tea shop, is it?" he asked, clearly suspicious.

Olivia rolled her eyes. "No. Sandwiches, soups, salads."

"Will they have hamburgers?" he asked petulantly.

"Will you quit acting like an eight-year-old?"

He stuck his tongue out at her, delighted at the annoyance that flashed through her eyes. "Honestly," she muttered. "I don't know how I've put up with you all these years."

"Oh, but I'm so adorable," he interjected, giving her the most charming smile he could muster. She raised her eyebrows, but decided not to merit that comment with a reply.

"Are we there yet?" Elliot wanted to know.

"Cut it out and keep walking."

"Fine," he sighed, narrowly avoiding walking into a bench. Their hands brushed lightly at the sudden movement, but both pretended they hadn't noticed.

"Right up here," said Olivia, who was concentrating hard on cold things to get the heat out of her face. Ice water. Snow. Igloos. He paused to survey the building. "Does it meet with your approval?" she asked sarcastically.

"I guess it'll do," he said with resignation, earning him a shove on the shoulder, which propelled him through the doors.

"Two?" asked the waitress, a twenty-something with perkily bobbed hair. They nodded and she led them to a table artfully concealed behind a tasteful potted plant. It might have been awkward if they hadn't been so used to people thinking they were a couple.

"Oh, look, Elliot," said Olivia. "They have hamburgers."

He shrugged. "I don't really want one."

She dropped her forehead to her hand. "I hope you're not planning on being this difficult for the rest of the night."

"We'll see," he said innocently, and she merely rolled her eyes. Once he'd eaten some food, he'd mature before her eyes, and she knew it.

"Ready to order?" asked the waitress, magically appearing at their table.  
"Um, yes. I'll have the chicken salad," said Olivia, fumbling to close her menu. "What do you want?" she asked.

Something flashed in his eyes as he glanced up at her, but she couldn't have sworn she'd seen anything. "I'll have…the hamburger, I guess," he said in defeated tones. "Extra bacon," he added, as if to salvage his pride. The waitress made the note and walked away.

Olivia smirked at him. "You're so predictable."

"Hey," he said indignantly. "Maybe I'm just a man who knows what he likes."

"Oh, really?" she asked. "And what, besides hamburgers, might that be?"

He grinned and leaned back in his chair. "Wouldn't you like to know."

"I believe that's why I asked."

"Some things aren't meant to be shared," he informed her haughtily.

"Is that so," she said, in a bored tone.

"Especially over dinner," he added, as said dinner arrived.

"Good service here," he commented, taking a bite of his hamburger.

"Yeah," agreed Olivia. "Though she was definitely checking you out."

He stopped mid-chew. "She was?"

"Oh, yeah. Little twig of a girl," she added with evident disgust.

"Too young for me, anyway."

"Gee, you think?"

"You're one to talk," he said, carefully re-adjusting his strips of bacon the way he preferred.

"Excuse me?"

"Like you've never given Sandoval the once-over."

"I most certainly have not!" she exclaimed, stabbing a piece of chicken with great force.

"Whatever, Liv," he said.

"I happen to have a policy," she began, but stopped short.

"A policy of what?" he asked with an evil grin. "Go on. Not checking out co-workers? 'Cause I happen to remember, Olivia, a certain detective –"

"Shut up. So I'm not very good at_ keeping_ my policy. The point is that it's _there_, isn't it?"

"I dunno, Liv," he said. "Isn't doing much good from where I'm sitting."

"Doesn't matter much where you're concerned," she told him innocently, glad she's had so much practice lying.

"Oh, well," he said with a mock sigh of defeat. "Guess I'll have to hook up with Novak, then." He relished her expression as she nearly choked on her salad.

"You wouldn't seriously."

"Oh, I might," he said airily, enjoying this conversation to the fullest. "You never know, do you."

She raised her eyebrows. "Apparently not. Didn't peg you for the redhead type, Stabler."

He noted her use of his last name. "I could go for that. In all honestly, though, I prefer brunettes." He licked ketchup off of his finger, and she found her eyes following.

"Oh," she said faintly. "There's always Warner, then."

He shook his head. "Bit scared of her, actually. Wouldn't like someone to know more about my own guts than I do."  
"Well, then, I guess you're out of luck," she teased, scraping the rest of her salad onto her fork. She had missed this; she had missed him. He had been so distant lately, but bantering like this – this was how it was supposed to be.

He smiled and didn't respond; the waitress had reappeared. "Dessert?"

"Nah," said Olivia, looking over at Elliot, "but could we get two coffees to go?"  
"Sure," she said. "I'll bring 'em with the check."

"To go?" asked Elliot once the waitress had left.

"I figured we could drink them in that park. Don't wanna waste the little time we have before the snow comes."

"What is it with you and parks?" Elliot grumbled, but complied. She had always gotten her way as far as he was concerned.

Once their coffees arrived, they collected their coats and headed outside. "Actually," said Elliot, as if continuing a conversation with such a large gap was an entirely natural thing to do, "I think Fin might have a thing for Warner."

She rolled her eyes and wrapped her hands more tightly around the paper cup in her hands. "Way to be stereotypical, Elliot."

"Hey, I call 'em like I see 'em," he defended himself. She had to admit that his instincts tended to be good in this area.

"She's married."

"Doesn't always make a difference," he said pointedly, and she accidentally took too large a sip of coffee.

"It should," she said firmly, wiping her mouth.

"Yeah? And what if Warner weren't married anymore? What then?"

"You'd have to ask Fin."

"I'm asking you."

"I dunno, El, my door doesn't swing both ways." He laughed then, and she was relieved to be let off the hook.

"That's good to know."

They sat down on a nearby bench in order to avoid dangerous coffee incidents, and she couldn't help but notice that he sat nearer to her than necessary.

"D'ya ever wonder," he said conversationally, "where the term 'tree-huggers' came from?"

She looked at him in astonishment. "Do you mean to tell me that you've never hugged a tree?"

"…You have?"

"Of course," she said, as though going around hugging trees was a perfectly logical thing to do. "Come on, El. We're going to cure you of your tree-phobia."

"I do not have tree-phobia," he said.

"Then come on."

He reluctantly threw his empty cup into a nearby garbage can ("That's good, Elliot, the tree-huggers would approve") and followed her to where she was standing.

"Go on, Elliot," she instructed. "Hug the tree."

"You do know," he grumbled, "that there is not another soul I would do this for."  
"Oh, I know," she said, her voice holding a faint edge of glee. "And I plan to use that for all it's worth. Hug the tree."

He gingerly walked up to it and placed his arms around its trunk, earning peals of laughter from her. "I feel like an idiot."

She shook her head, containing her mirth. "No, that's great, Elliot."

"Your turn," he proclaimed, marching back to her side.

"Fine," she said, and flounced over, determined to show him how it was done. She gave the tree a great hug, then turned to face him, wrapping her arms around the tree in back of her. "See? Not so hard."

"Guess I'll have to try again," he said, moving as though to envelop both her and the tree in a hug. She threw her hands up to block him, laughing.

"What happened to your hand?" he asked, having caught her wrists.

"Oh," she said, inspecting her palm. "I guess I fell."

He let her hands go and braced himself on the trunk as he leaned in. "So did I," he whispered into her ear. She shivered at his breath, feeling the rough bark behind her, wondering. He pressed his lips to hers, and was only a little surprised when she kissed him back.

She wrapped her arms around him. "Much better than a tree," she laughed into his mouth.

"Are you willing to admit, then," he said, pulling away for a moment, "that perhaps I do have a few hidden talents?"

"Definitely," she said, and tipped her face up to meet his again. Neither of them felt the wind that rustled the branches above them, surrounding them with a rainstorm of golden leaves and all the subtle fairy tales that neither of them had quite believed in until now.

(the end)


End file.
